https://digitallis.isg.siue.edu/files/original/e5580ce5a8c02619eecb72d8cadc6bd7.pdf 5d8db0d18eb83e8b0a658e97ea540ab7 PDF Text Text ., I / / / / SCRI P? ADAPTATION OF DRUMVO ICES: THE MISSIO N OF AFP.0AM:~RICAN POETRY (a c ri t ical hi s~c ry) / b ,J Eugene B. Redmon d For Presentation at Book Party Oc:ober 3, 1976 : 3 p.m. to 6 p .m., Redwood Room, Univ ersity Uni on California State Unive rsity Sacramento ( �Na rrator: I ru11 the poer.il Chorus: We are the poemJ Narrator: And the poem is mel Chorus: And the poem is usJ :narrator: , :p o e:,: .'J.Tld I came before pen or pencil or paper or printing pressJ - L, p:i;; c c... and cuddled the wisdom of the winds in drum-bosoms of ecstasy 0 Drummer: / A wi-de range of rhythms, movements, multiple movement -rhythms : African, West Indian., Afro-Americano Narrator: I write in dru.:.--:i-language and converse with tomorrow., today and the here- t c fore. Chorus: DRU:MFEET O:N 'l'E2 SO IL, ON Tl{E SANDROA DS OF THE MIND! F:,ESH-PIS':i:'o:;s PRANCING, THE EARTH Is ENGINE l IT IS A cor::n;G FD R'l'H , THE NIGHT WIT :HN us COMING FORTH l Trill NIG:ir_r 1rJI'I'~-J:IN US COHING FORTH! FEET B.:.::ATING, BEATING, BEATING SEEDS INTO THE SOIL! Narrator: I retu rn anC: :ceturn an d reta;-:,n to m.,'_ magni fi cent and reli able archiv es. Chorus: That love we can depEmd on l ·rha t (over ) l ove we can depend ont �Voice (singing): Onoborobol Chorus: Onoborobo! Voice: Onoborobo! Chorus: Onoborobo 1 Voice: Onoborobo I Chorus: Onoborobo! Narrator: In my dependable cultural vault is the Idea-gram.: the natural cinerna tography landscaped by thudding thoughts of my totem-family, the living-dead, the breathin3, the W1born. I run the poetic flesh-temple wlth many forms, earth-daughter and agile inW1dator of history. I am the poem in motion. Dancer: (q{ (c) ,.-¢ii f I \ Rudimentary movements and other ele:ments of traditional African and Afro-American dance: isolation, use of pelvis and torso, leaps, twirls, pulls, yanvalou, vigorous stretches and thrusts.(Drum accompaniment) Narrator: I am the Black and Unknown Bard. America put me on a conveyer belt moving in ~ different directions at the same time. My African Jubilance turned to anger and a song of sabatage. My Indorni..table Echo and Idiom flavored my rndomi table press to be human. As a poem, I became part of-.,wha.t :_I :did, saw and dreamed on these shores: Field Hollers, Vendors' ~houts, Chants, \l ' ' Work Songs, Spirituals, Blues, Gospels , Jazz, Rhythm-and-Blues, S0 ul Musico ' (over) I �Voice: Did yer feed my cow? Chorus: Voice: Will yer tell me ·f how? Chorus: Yes Ms.ml Voice: Oh w'at did y er give , ;; 1 r6..JJ_ er? ~ 5 ~,, , Chorus: Ca'WI1. an hay! Voice: Oh w1 at did y e r give 'er. ' I i ,· ' Chorus: Cawn an hay! Voice: l. Eva....-iwhuh. I, whuh r,.look dis mawnin, Looks lak rain , loo ks lak rain. Vo i ce: "'•h ) \~ I go tta r;ainbow, tied a ll roun mah shouJ_der 2~-,~ Ain gonna rain, ain gonna rain. Chorus: Dis is de hamme r Kilt John Henry; (over) �Voice: -c;;cu1f- - Twon•t kill me, baby 1 Twon't kill me .. ~ho.rus: Take dis hammer, Carry it to de captain; Voice: Tell him I'm gone , baby, '>l' I --- ~toil Tell him I'm gone. Chorus: I got a rainboH Tied !roun my shoulder, Ain.'t gonna rain, baby, Ain't gonna rain. Voice: ~ Dis ole hammer- -huhi Ring lak silver--huh, Shine lak gold--huh. _. --Chorus: gonna rain, gonna rain. Voice f female): c/. ·,~' I 1 m a big fat mamma, got the meat shaking on mah bones, Itm a big fat mamma, got the meat shaking on mah bones, And every time I shakes, some skinny girl loses huh home. Narrator: Yes, as- poem, as cotton-picker, as banj o-player, as preacher and slave-rebellion leader, I emerged as a · new part of the old. IJ',. y African song ushered forth in st~ange new Bib i cal language. (over) �Voice: Go down, Moses, . '\ Way down in Egyptland; Chorus: 11 old Pharaoh ~ ~ let my people go. Voice: sY Deep River ••• Chorus: Deep Deep Deep River •••• Voice: Deep River, my home is over Jordan; , Chorus: ( < Deep River, Lord; I want to cross over into camp ground. '- Voice: A..~d yes, I DREAMED I was riding in that chariot. Chorus: Swing low, swe e t chariot, Coming for to carry me home, Swing low, sweet chariot, Coming for to carry me home. Voice: Green trees a-bending, Po' sinner stands a-trembling The trumpet_., sounds within-a-my sou] J Chorus: I ain 1 t got long to stay here. (over) ·, J �Drumvoic e s, b Voice: You . named me: Lucy Terry! ·'.,, ··~: ,· • Voice, 'I Gustava s Va s sa ~ Voice: Britton & Jupi t0 r Hammon. • Vo ice: f Coon -~ {BocKJ · we- Voice: Phyllis 1tlheatleyi. Alld I mastered Gree~, , La.ti~- and · English in my teens. Lonely Black girl wh om the muses befriended, thousands and thousands rt.'I of miles away from ,;.Wes_t African home. I continued to emerge as the poem. /11 \ . Voice: ~Should you, rrry Lord, whil e you peruse my song , J?c::_, d eiii .- J Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung, Whence flow. these wishes for the common good, By feelin g hearts alone best understood, I, young in life, by seeming cruel f a te, Was snatch ~d from Afric's fancy'd h appy seat; What pangs excruciating must molest, What sorrows l a bour in my parents' breast? Steel'd was tha t soul and by no misery mov 1 d That from a f a the r s e i z 1 d hi s babe be lov .'d: \) Such, suchf\.my cas~ And can I th en but pray Others may neve r feel t y rannic sway? Na rrator: You named me George Mo s es Hort on. I did not like t he injust i c e of the cvv~L_:u- -.r:- double s t anda rci ~ And su ch res entment tu rned me into a poem. Ev en t h ough (over) �--' • - - 1.J. II, V ...._ _,, •J , 1 some called me "'l"ne ~lave. 11 Chorus: The Slave. Voice: / Because the brood-sow•s left side pigs were black, ~ ~ Whose sable tincture was by nature struck, . Were you by justice bound to pull them back And leave the sandy-colored pigs to suck? Chorus: Runagatef Runagatel Runagate! Runagate! Runagate! Narrator: f'IIY. My mother cured ills andAfather worked roots. In the bi-cultural constriction the poem became juju-man, the face hidden by the a,r.bi~vov.s minstrel smile. Voice: We have fashioned laughter Out of tears and pain; Chorus: G t the moment after-Voice: Pain and tears again. Voice: Forgive these erring people, Lord; Voice: Who lynch at home and love abroad. Narrator: Still I wrote--thi s time just like I talked, though some made fun of it. But, as maker of song, I could only p roduce heart-rhythms. (over ) �. Dru."'Tivoi c es, 8 Voice: De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man, O chillen, run, de Cunjah man! G Chorus: chill en, run, de Cunjuh man I Voice: •. I ; I Him mouf e z bee g e z fryin' pan ;_ Voice: Him yurs am small, him eyes am raid, ';'' · ·' Him hab no toof een him ol' haid, CJ(!tl1f ~ I \ Him hab him roots, him wu'k him trick, ! 1 :...,'-,'-- \_1 Him roll him eye, him mek you sick-- ~ e Cunjah man, de Cun jah man, ~ h.illen, run, de Cun ~ah man! Narrator: I lmew my rights, my rough-times and my remedies .... . f o - r - w ~ Voice: laud-nu.i.~, liver µills, "Sixty-six, fo I fever an1 chills, 11 Ready Relief, ant A. B. C., An' half a bottle of X.Y.Z. Narrator: You named me Frances El len Watkin~ Harperi,-~Jarnes Edwin Campbell, James ~•i ela.on j'ohnson, Paul Lawrence Dunbar--son of ex-slaves, elevator boy risen to brilliant bard of ~he race. As the poem I S'1rodc in several kinds of English • ...\ Qx' Yr know why Voice: 1 • the caged bird sings, ah me , (f'-- ~ ~ , forth �When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore-When he beats his bars and he would b e free; It is not a carol of joy or glee, But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core, But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings-- I know why the caged bird sings! Narrator: oll..> Abovef\ song exudes from me. I am song. P,.e.pus_e__:me • .i::xarnine Me. Watch Me. My birthright is my anthem. My song is my sword. Voice: -$~ ~ f t every voice and singI Till earth and heaven ringI Ring with the harmonies of liberty I Voice: 1 our rejoicings rise gh as the listening skiesJ -,.::_-, ,· Narrator: ! song-poem , I forge pure flames of rhythms without books. James Weldon Johnson called me the Black and Unknown Bard. And I love to hear Ma.lindy sing. Voice: G'way an 1 quit dat noise, Miss Lucy-Put dat music book away; What 1 s ce use to keep on tryin 1 ? Ef you practise twell you 1 re gray, You cain't sta•t no notes a-flyin' Lak do on es dat rants and rings From de kitchen to de big woods When Malindy sings. (over ) �:tou ain I t got de nachel o I gans Fu I to make de soun I come right, You ain't got de tu 1 ns an' twistin's Fu' :.to make it sweet an I light. Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy, An 1 I 1 m tellin' you fut true, When hit comes to raal right singin 1 , 'T ain't no easy thing to do. Easy .1 nough fu 1 folks to hollah, Lookin' at de lines an 1 dots, When dey ain 1 t no one kin sence it, An 1 6.e chune comes in, in spo.ts; But fu 1 real melojous music, Dat jesr strikes y o' hear t and cling s, .Jes' you stan r an' listen wif me When Malindy sings. Ain't you nevah hyea.hd Malindy? Blessed soul, tek up de cross! Look hyeah, ain't you jokin',honey?' Well, you don't know whut you los •. y, ought to hyealL dat gal a-wa 1 blin 1 , Robbins, la' k s, an 1 all dem things, Heish dey mouf s an 1 hides dey f !lce When Malindy sings. Narrator: Poem that I am and was, I traveled frc m 11 oasis to oasis. 11 Voice: (ove r) �\. ,; , ,Jeot . _:,,,er< Drumvoices, 11 Man's Sahari c up and down. \ ~ t}""' · J,v'~ Narrator: Riverboats, river towns, chain.gangs~ bar-room toughs, hard-hearted Hanna, Stagolee, ••• t h ey all knew me. Voice: Hard-hearted Hanna-- lJ.1 ---- ,geJJf Voice: ----------------- From .Savannah 2 GEE A. . Voice: She was so cold, yal J. -Chorus: &.sn 1 t she-Voice: She 1 d poor water on a drowing man! Voice: It was eurly one morn.in', When I heard my bulldog bark; Voice: . Stagolee and Billy Lyons Was squablin' in the dark. Chorus: Shine, shine, shine, ••• save po' me. Narrator: You heard me corning from the swollen lips of the bu~le, French horn, trumpet, clarinet and saxophone. Horn: A series of sh ort riffs exemplary o f various forms of music played between the advent of t he spirituals and th e blues-ragtime period. ( ov c r) �Narrator: In Paris they called the ncakewalk" tne "poetry of motion. 11 .!'t'\11,e. crevices of ships I was transported t o global points to make my splendid sound and dance my splendid poetry of motion. Dancer: Executes a series of movements representing such dances as the Cakewalk, or. Charleston, Ji t terbug and the Bop • .t:l emen ts (\'vJest Indian dances should flavor the movements. Narrator: As the poem I blue horns, shot guns in your war, danced dances and came home to face the Ku: IUux Klan,~ Southern Sheriffs and Jim Crow. I got angry. And I got defiant. But I was relatively cool. Voice: ~ the furnace let me go alone; V \stay you 1.vi. tho ut in terror of the he at . I will go naked in--for thus 1 tis sweet-- Into the weird depths of the h ottest zone. Voice: r Desire destroys, consumes m'JV mortal fears,,:.~, Transforming me into a shape of flame o I will come out, back to your world of tears, A stronger soul within a finer frame. Narrator: After race riots in several American cities, I lifted my voice into a searing sha ft of discontent ., Chorus: ~ kinsmen! we must meet the common foe! Voice: ~ ke ...______ ,; /41)-/t · men we' 11 face the murderous, co,-:ardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fmght i•·-ig back I ~ r ) .• ~ - 4,WA .. ,e,pA ~.-R .. �Narrator: Still, still my past pulled on me. It was as if we were married to each other, glued, locked, welded togeth~r. It was as if those who left us here on this earth never really, really died. Some African sense kept tugging, tugging at my truncated roots. The bridge of my ~ast rested on two shores. Voice: Pour O pour that parting soul in song, pour it in the sawdu st glow of night, 0 Into tho velvet pine-smoke air to-night,; •• Chorus: ~ d let the valley carry it along. ~ d let the valley carry it along. Narrator: Sometimes I w a ~ f there, fi~ting those who wanted to snatch away rrry humanity by day; and fighting hunger and confusion at home by night. As the poem,~ emerged convoluted and wholly new, only to retreat to a some-other-time refrain. Egypt, Ghana, Madagascar, the Pyramids-Voodoo Ceremonies--what did they all mean to me1 Voice: Come with a blast of trumpets, Jesus! Voice: And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red / Burns in my heart a love-fire sharp like pain. Chorus; ~ eet silver trumpets, Jesus I Voice: Well, son, I 1 11 tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stai r. (over) I I I �Narrator: The blur of the veil was always relieved by song, by dance, by reading about foreign places and looking forward to the day when Americans would grow up. We were here--in America--but not of it. Simply worryin~ without a plan to change thing)never helped much. We grew stronger, and more beautiful, in the words of Langston Hughes, as we re~embraced our rituals. Chorus: Shake your .b rown feet, honey, Shake your brown feet, chile, Shake your brown feet, honey, Shake 1 Vk:way em swift and wil' -Voice: back, honey, ~\ Do that low-down step. Walk on over, darling, Now! Come out With your left. Warrator: During the watering years, after the Great Depression, I was terrified by lynching and an atmosphere of intimidation. I went to war, as poem and soldier and cook and shining knight of Democracy. 'rhe Swa stika, ( ..,-4 ~ ) i£J The Rising Sun, The Hammer & Sickle, I was told, are your r eal enemy. r Meanwhile you had name d me 01-w- Doc.son and I became a witness to the .};.~alft;i._e_s ~of neighborly enemies. Those who caused unnatural Ileaths. Voic0: . . I up, boy, and tell me how you di ed : sense was alert last, What irnraediate intuition about us (over) '·I ..• ~ �You clutched like a bullet 'When your nails Dug red in your yellow palm. And that map the fortunetellers read Chorus: (this line for money, this for love) Voice: Childish again and smeared •••• Chorus: Wake up,boy, ••• Voice: ••• I go to death tomorrow, Tell me what road you took, ••• Chorus: What hour in the day i s luckiest? Voice: - Did your Adams appl e explodez - Who sewed stitches in 0 your µ;:t\ .,' ~ 5 \ angry heart? ~rtt 4 Chorus: wake••• Na rrator: Yes, yes••• I was sometimes a tattered poem in the thirties, forties and fifites. But I was a poem anyway: gracious, noble, fundamental, fiery, Wa ll<C1L 1 firm, relating td My People~' Someone called me Margaret~ I be came a tapestry of my many selves. Voice: For my people everywhere singing their slave songs repeatedly: their dirges and their ciitties and their b,lues and jubi lees, praying their . pr~.yers nightly to an unknown god, bending their knee s humbly to an un/seen power; ( OVf!' r ) �Voice: For my playmate s in the clay and dust and sand of Alabama backyards playing baptizing and preaching and doctor and jail and soldier an~hool and mama and cooking and playhouse and concert and store and hair and Mi s3 Choomby and company; Voice: Let a new earth rise. Chorus: [ let another world be born. Let ·.a bloody peace be written in the sky. Voice: Let a race of mfn / now rise and take control. Narrator: Frank Marshall Davis, Helvin Beaunorous Tolson, Sterling Brown, Robert Hayden, Gwendolyn Brooks--these are names by which my voice is lmown. Some even call me by the name of HISTORY. Chorus: History, history, history. Runagate J Runagate!RunagateJ Voice: Runs falls rises stumbles on from da rlmess into darlmess and the darlmess thicketed with shapes of terror and the hunters pursuing and the hounds pursuing and the night cold and the night long and the river · to cross and the ja ck-muh-lant e rns beckoning beckoning _ and the blaclmess ahead and when shall I reach that somewhere morning and keep on going and never turn back and keep on going •••• Chorus: Runagatel Runagate! Runagate! (over) �Narrator: I wormed into and won hearts and minds. In 1950, America · gave me the Pulitzer Prize. My name was Annie Allen. I was so ·finely sculpt- .. . ed that no inflection was imprecise. I said what I had to say in a language that dazzled and blinded the world. I stood as a jewel; I talked about a jewel named Satin-Leg s Smith. Voice: He wakes, unwinds, elaborately: a cat \ Tawny, reluctant, royal. He is fat ; And fine this morning. Definite. Reimburs e d. He waits a moment, he designs his reign, That no performance maybe plain or vain. Then rises in a clear delirium. Voice: Let us proceed. Let us inspect, together With his meticulous and serious love, The innards of this close+;. Which is vault Whose glory is not diamonds, not pearls, Not silver plat e with just enough dull shine. But wonder-suits in yellow and in wine, Sarcastic green and zebra-striped cobalt. With shoulder paddine that is wide And cocky and determined as his pride; Ballooning pants that taper off to ends Scheduled to ch oke precisely. Voice: Here are hats Like bri e;ht umbrellas; and hystericaJ. ties Like narrow ba.."lners for some ga theri r..g war. (111ver) �1-~arrato r: I lmew the power of the rap l Chorus: Narrator: I am the power of the rap I Chorus: ~ en! Voice: Bartender, make it straight and make it two-- \ ', Voice(pointing): One for the you in me••• Voice(pointing): • • • and one for the me in you. \' Narrator: I became the Be Bopper; somebody called me the Jfot-suiter; I put on dark glasses and conked my hair. A salesman handed me some bleaching cream and a cad.illac as I sped North to join my Brothers and Sisters in the Promised Land. mchard Wright and James Baldwin cried for l'.ll3 • . John Oliver Killens Heard the 'fhunder and Ralph .l!:11ison called me Invisible, adding that once my leaders figured out tbe riddle of my · style and my rap they could help me save me. Black, I left a white country t to fight yellow men in Korea. :t.:lla, Miles, Monk, Billie, Prez,:. .Chano Pozo, Ornette, Coltrane--they went to war 1.-ri.th me. Chorus: jGood morning heartache I ~ do you do? (over) �Horn: , ' Brief medley of sounds and tunes re~~iJiscent of the period. Narrator: I returned to mys~~ .motion~ 1;:~d! The Stroll Slop I The Madisor!J l'Je ~ st~ ~ The Kansas City e Funky Chicken I The Karate-Boogaloo I They saw me poeting with my hips and my feet. ~-Ctt .. cl_., r ;oet~ngl ~ etingl ?Jarra tor: ;1~ilC J,\~ l ,All An d took it all back to 1~ andstand and other countries. Voice: ; ·q-"' l. l.? There's a thrill upon the hill. . Chorus: Let's go, lot : s go, let 1 s goJ _ Narrator: I came from knrea to meet the ltlan in a new sheet'. And, in Montgomecy, · rited,,,~ cr-&:r: ml).,,•/ \\''~hey wo,ul<ln:,' t let ~y tlp_ther sj- t down .pn a bus. )..s.?. Ko t JoiJ<?,0 H--.ilre Y h ,,cte; o Cn orus: .J~ '• i. }rl'-1.,J._ ,p¢f,~ ,."\_) G,( ..(~I\.J 1 ~ ntgomery, Montgomery, I remember Montgomery. Voice: And Birmingltlarn--the three little girls. Voice: And Selma 1 Voice: '. ) And Philadelphia, Mississippi 1 \ Voice: I recollect Emmett Till! Voice: And Watts! i · £ (Al/1-5' , (0 : ~ - ~ Ct/faw e; / ' 6 11 / �Narrator: My name was Co nra d l\ent Rivers at tha t time. I became a poem called 1 'viatts,'"-hoping that in such disguise I could .fi~d my .;wa.y out of this daily ni ghtma re JVoice: -------- Must I shoot the white man dead to free the ni gger in his head? Must I shoot the white man dead to free the ni gger in his head? And Newark! Voice: 0 And Harlem! \ \ \, -- s cgff- Na rrator: My color felt good to me. I stretched and yawned and walked around m~eigb,borhood. Someonec called me Black and I didn--:;~: i t him. At a rally, I turned into a voice on the podium shouting • Chorus: C::TE ,\ i ) ARE A.~ AFRICAN PEOPLE! Voice: \1 I I i \ all things bl a ck and beautiful, I I '- I '- brown faces you loved so well and long, the 'endless roads l eading back to Harlem. (over) \ \ I ..\,l ll \ IJ ~ ,, ,. \ L ' �Chorus: ~ lu Se Ham.al l.=:lu Se Mamal Voice: Where the stri n g At Some point, Was some umbilical jazz, Or perhaps, . I In memory, A long lost bloody cross, Buried in some steel calvary. In what time For whom do we bleed, Lost notes, fro m some jazzman 1 s Broken needlep Musical tears from los t Eyes, Broken drumstick s, why? Pitter patter, boom dropping Bombs in the middle Of my emotions My father I s sound I My mothert,s sound.o •• Chorus: love, life. Narrator: I turned to philosophy. In the spit and dart of my new self, t here �..L ... ..... • ) were utter~~c es I had to make, blood-thoughts I had to share. I knew this was anotl:er sequel to the dream. I had not believed ' jJ those fairy tales. I needed to take a hand and stand and speak the truth. Speak the truth to the peopl 0 ! Voice: It is not necessary to green the heart Only to identify the enemy It is not necessary to blow the mind Only to free the mind •••• Ch orus: It is the total black! Voice: It is the total black, being spoken From the earth's inside. There are many kinds of open. How a diamond comes into a knot of flame How a sound comes into a word, colored By who pays i:hat . :fo:v speaking •••• Ge Chorus: is another kind of open-Voice: i As a diamond cone s in to a knot of fl ame I am black because I come fro m the earth 's inside : Take my word for jewel in your open light. Narrator: I am the ecstasy of N0 1:v. The fullest r e alization of my ancestors' wishes. I return, even in the alarm; e ven in -~:1e shadow-body I am of ten forced to wear. But e:-iough, enough; I beg you, my dear associates, look Now on our&~ctnd hit'fc>;~y~ ~ int~ , ____ Thea.sv"'e. • __ , _: / " j ,JJ .(11.JJ v �Voice(and Dancer): I am a black woman the nrusic of my song some sweet arpeggio of tears is written in a minor k ey and I can be heard humming in the night Can be heard humming Chorus: Hums first line of 11 Nobody Knows The ·'f rouble I See" Voice: in the night I saw my mate leap screamin g to the sea and I/with these hands/cupped the lifebreath from my issue in the canebrake I lost Nat 1 s swinging body in a rain of tears and I heard my son ,scream all the way fromE:v for Peace he never knew • • • • I learned ·na Nang and Pork Chop Hill in anguish ) Now my nostrils lmow the gas and these tri ?ge red tire/d fingers l'!'l\·~ seek the softness inl\k1rrior I s beard I a"'1 a black wo!"lnn tall as & cyp~e ss strong (ov~r) ) ' . � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Eugene B. Redmond Digital Collection Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context EBRWritings_09_34 Title A name given to the resource Fifth draft of Script Adaptation of Drumvoices: The Mission of Afro-American Poetry (A Critical History), typed with handwritten edits, 1976 Description An account of the resource Fourth draft of Script Adaptation of Drumvoices: The Mission of Afro-American Poetry (A Critical History), typed with handwritten edits, 1976. For presentation at book party on October 3, 1976: 3 p.m. to 6 p.m., Redwood Room, University Union, California State University, Sacramento. Relation A related resource Eugene B. Redmond Digital Collection Language A language of the resource English Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource For digital rights and permissions, see <a href="https://www.siue.edu/lovejoy-library/about/policies.shtml">https://www.siue.edu/lovejoy-library/about/policies.shtml</a> or contact <a href="mailto:library@siue.edu">library@siue.edu</a> for direct inquiries. In copyright. <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Redmond, Eugene B. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1976